@vesselswore asked for a starter!
Chuck hadn’t warned Hannah that he was arriving -- he just appeared out of thin air, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, and his shoulders drawn back. Angels didn’t get surprised, the way humans did. Becky always jumped when he teleported. But he knew that Hannah wouldn’t be phased.
"Hello, Hannah,” he said in Enochian, the ancient, sing-song, language of the angels flowing easily from his lips. He didn’t need to act human around his angel. He didn’t need to be the relatable, down-to-earth guy he was for the Winchesters, or the awkward prophet he was for Becky. Sure, this was still kind of an act -- Hannah expected a general, a father, the God he used to be, the guy who smote cities and only addressed the angels through Metatron -- but it was one he was used to. Even in this form -- short for a human, kinda unassuming, cute -- he knew Hannah would look at him and see him as God, not Carver Edlund, the way Sam and Dean did. “It’s been a while.” They’d only met briefly, before, in this world, but he’d kept tabs on her while he’d been away. She was the only angel in this universe, after all, besides Jack Kline, the nephilim. His grandson.
